In the dead of night, a young man walks unknowingly through a deserted path

In the dead of night, a young man walks unknowingly through a deserted path, the cold air biting at his skin. Behind him, a sinister band of Dementors silently emerges from the shadows, their presence a creeping dread that goes unnoticed in the stillness. Cloaked in tattered, filthy robes that billow like smoke, these ghostly entities hover just above the ground, their forms obscured by darkness so deep it seems to swallow the very light around them. The night air grows colder with every step they take, their hoods concealing the void where faces should be, leaving only a black emptiness that oozes malice.The Dementors move as one, gliding effortlessly through the night, their approach almost imperceptible. From beneath their cloaks, wisps of dark mist seep out, carrying the distant, tortured cries of souls long lost to despair. The shadows stretch unnaturally, warping the landscape around them as if the world itself recoils from their presence. The young man remains oblivious to the deathly chill creeping closer, his breath now visible in the freezing air, the very essence of warmth and hope being drained from the world as the Dementors close in. With every silent beat of their approach, the atmosphere thickens, laden with a foreboding that whispers of an impending doom—a fate worse than death that lingers just out of sight, waiting to ensnare him in the cold grip of despair, in the forest, with a highly detailed perspective. Best quality